


Blood So Sweet

by orphan_account



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-02
Updated: 2015-04-10
Packaged: 2018-03-20 20:53:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3664560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Regina hasn't been seen since her mother was killed in Gold's shop and when Emma receives a distressed call from Archie, she suspects the queen is brewing up trouble and goes to investigate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I have come to realize that I am completely incompetent when it comes to computers and it has taken me several days to open this account, so sorry if I made any errors as this is my first fic. Criticism is greatly appreciated, even if it is negative (especially if it is negative; I'd like to know if I'm wasting my time). Hopefully, if this goes smoothly and technology isn't conspiring against me, I will have this story updated within 24 hours.

Fat, white flakes drift from above, obscuring her vision as she speeds through the intersection. There is a shrill shriek from her left as a car loses its purchase on the slick pavement. The driver most likely shouts an obscenity in her direction, but Emma couldn't care less. She is after all, flashing her lights and blaring the sirens. How much clearer could she be? GET OUT OF THE WAY! So what if a great number of these people were born and raised in barns; that is no excuse to not be aware of this world’s customs.  
The conversation from moments before repeatedly plays in her head as she analyzes it, retrieving as much vital information as possible. A very frantic Archie had called, on the verge of hysteria and nearly impossible to comprehend. After a couple of minutes attempting to calm him down, she managed to coax a somewhat cohesive story from him. “Regina called earlier to schedule an appointment and of course I obliged seeing as how well she had been doing before Cora’s arrival. She was due an hour ago and when she didn't show I assumed she needed more time to think things over for herself. Now I’m hearing screaming from outside in the alleyway,” the panicky shrink had explained.  
Emma had her coat on and was out the door before the conclusion of Archie’s report. She left him with instructions to stay inside the building before contacting David for assistance. He had been with Gold searching Regina’s vault. Apparently the enraged queen had made quite the mess of her wardrobe before proceeding to gather ingredients for some sort of curse. They had yet to discern what exactly Regina planned on enacting, but it was enough to spur Emma into action, despite David’s request for her to wait for back up.  
Since the incident at Gold’s shop no one had seen or heard from the sorceress. Not that they had really been looking, but Emma had suspected that Regina was up to something this entire time. She wasn't the type to go quietly into the night and it was evident that she still desired Henry. But Emma was well aware of her other, more urgent motive. The way she had glowered at Mary Margaret, dark eyes seeming to bore into her soul, was as clear a threat as any. And Emma had countless regrets, more than she’d like to admit, but among the largest was not ending Regina’s sorry life when she’d had the knife pressed to her throat. One simple flick of her wrist and Regina would cease to be an issue, becoming nothing more than an unpleasant memory. But she hadn't. Instead she’d thrown her into her Mother and the two had crashed into one of Gold’s display cases, providing just enough time to hide in the storage room. Well, Emma was done hiding. The next time Emma saw the bitch she wouldn't hesitate to put a bullet in her head.  
After what seems an eternity, she arrives at her destination. She cautiously emerges from the police cruiser, handgun at the ready. Conveniently, all the street lamps in the immediate vicinity are off. Lovely, Emma thinks as she approaches the dark alley. Without the lights to illuminate her path, Emma nearly falls on her ass when she steps into a puddle of liquid that most definitely isn't melted snow.  
Several images rise unbidden into her mind as a realization dawns on her. Archie had never specified who the owner of the screams was. She didn't even know if they were male or female. The idea that Regina is not the assailant, but the victim is terrifying, but not completely unviable. Hadn't there been an angry mob outside the queen’s house upon the breaking of the curse that sought to have her head on a spike? How far would one of those furious citizens be willing to go? Emma imagines returning to the apartment with Regina’s mutilated corpse dragging behind her in a body bag. The devastation expression on Henry’s face as he learned of Regina’s well deserved fate. As much as she was loath to admit it, Regina was a good mother to him. For ten years she had parented him. That was a difficult bond to break. Regardless of his protests, Emma knew of Henry’s love for his adoptive Mother. With all the poor kid had recently been through, could he handle her death?  
Emma proceeds down the shadowy walkway and as she nears the end she hears a faint rustling, So indistinct as to be the result of her overactive imagination. Body tensed and poised for attack she continues on, wishing all the while that she had brought her phone to be used as a light. The alley was pitch black and even after her eyes adjusted, she could just barely make out the dumpster not five feet from her.  
Then a lurid, yellow light fills the area and Emma realizes it belongs to a pair of eyes. However, it is not a set of human eyes, for she has never seen any so garish. So bright, are they that Emma can now see with near perfect clarity the figure that crouches over the lifeless form on the ground. Blood gushes from a wound on the stiff body, pouring onto the frozen concrete and creating a trail from where the creature had drug the corpse further into the depths of the shadows. A low growl emanates from deep within its chest and for the first time Emma notices how its clothes are dyed crimson from where blood coats its grotesque lips and spills from its open mouth. Though it is not the horrific appearance of the monster that astonishes Emma, but the fact that she recognizes it, would know that face anywhere.  
“Regina?” Emma inquires, gun pointed at the woman who is and isn't Regina. Her nostrils flare and Emma is sure she is about to pounce when she springs effortlessly into the air, sailing over the nearby building, and disappearing as if she was never there.


	2. Metamorphosis

Regina was a child born unto darkness and so had never feared that which lurked in the depths of the shadows. But she was soon to learn a healthy respect. So enwrapped was she in her own morbid musings, that she never saw the stooped figure detach itself from the blackness of the alleyway. The blow came from behind and sent her sprawling onto the frozen concrete. Before she could right herself, or even make sense of the unexpected attack, her assailant was upon her again, chucking her against a wall with inhuman strength.  
Regina hears the distinct crack of breaking bone as her ribs shatter from the impact. Cold, slender fingers wind around her pale, exposed throat in a vice-like grip, effectively turning her scream of pain into a strangled gasp. The entire scene had transpired in a matter of seconds and before Regina can gather her thoughts to launch a counter-attack, the fingers are tightening their hold, effectively cutting off her air supply. She claws at the hand, attempting to pry the fingers loose. Her desperate resistance is futile and as her lungs begin to ache from lack of oxygen, her pathetic struggles start to lose their vigor.  
She feels what she presumes to be a knife dig into the tender flesh of her neck. She is fading fast, dying without even a glimpse of the face of who is performing the heinous deed. The world is dimming and it is as if the lifeblood is being drawn-or more accurately, sucked-from her frail, limp body.  
Then, seemingly from a great distance, though she knows it to be emanating from only feet away, she hears a deep, raspy voice, “Damn you fool. Control yourself!” A few seconds later the blade is extracted and she is tossed aside like so much rubble after a storm.  
She should be dead.  
She wants to be dead.  
Regina had never before been so cold, never dreamt it possible. It is worse still than the pain of her fractured bones. She tries to cry out, to move, but her throat is too mangled, her limbs leaden weight beside her. And as the snow accumulates around her, clings to her lashes, encases her with a tomb-like finality, she slips ever deeper into an eternal slumber.  
It starts as a sort of tingling sensation in the area she had been cut and begins to creep through her veins, entering her bloodstream and moving throughout her entire being. At first it is warm, so blessedly warm, and Regina can’t ever recall such a heavenly feeling as the absence of the awful, gnawing cold. But as with all good things in Regina’s life, it doesn’t remain pleasant, instead becoming impossibly hot.  
She is burning, paying for her sins in her own private corner of hell. Just when she thinks she can’t endure any more, the fire in her veins intensifies. She regrets living, regrets ever existing, and all she knows in that moment is pain; it is all she consists of, all she has ever been made of.  
And after what seems to her to be an interminable amount of time, but is really only a matter of minutes, the flames recede; though it lingers still in her raw throat.  
Her eyes flutter open and she finds herself being oppressed by a mound of freshly fallen snow. But oddly enough, it doesn’t impede her vision nor muffle her hearing. Instead she becomes aware of newly heightened senses and clarity of mind. Despite the fact that she lay under a heavy blanket of snow, in a dark alleyway, under a moonless sky, she can make out every minute detail of every flake that surrounds her. Even more extraordinary, she can hear the sound of each individual flake striking the ground around her. It is not the only sound to be heard either; all around her are signs of life-the buzz of electricity, the soft hum of an air conditioner in a nearby building, the gentle wing flaps of a distant great horned owl. She became aware of a sudden terrifying stillness too, not in the air around her, but deep within herself. Her heart-now so shriveled and black from corruption and disuse as to be considered a vestigial organ- had ceased to beat.  
She doesn’t have much time to contemplate the significance of this observation, however as she catches a whiff of something distinctly human and the burning sensation she had thought to be over flares to life again. Some baser instinct rises to the surface and she knows in an instant that water will not satisfy this dire thirst. She is standing even before making the conscious decision to do so, her movements more cat-like than human. She is momentarily blinded by the beam of a flashlight as someone rounds the corner, stumbling on patches of ice, shouting, “Hello? Is someone there? I heard screaming and-” The man stops as he takes in the appearance of Regina and she imagines he is having difficulties adjusting to the darkness of the ally. He takes one more cautious step before waving his gloved hand in a friendly gesture, brow raised in inquiry, “Excuse me ma’am, but are you alright? I heard quite the commotion-“The man never finishes his sentence as Regina covers the remaining distance and crushes his trachea in one fluid motion. The action is completely nonconsensual as the logical side of her brain fights with the part that is pure, undiluted, animalistic need. This wild hunger is what wins out as she drags her victim deeper into the recesses of the ally, even as her rational side is recognizing the man in her clutches. He is the honest grocer that works at Storybrook’s small supermarket to support his poor family and despite Regina’s identity, he had never shown her an unkindness. Sure, he hadn’t gone out of his way to be overly compassionate towards her, but it was better than the glares and mumbled curses she regularly received from the rest of the community.  
All of this is lost on her though as she sinks her fangs into his soft flesh and drinks of the crimson liquid that flows through his veins. It is a barbaric practice, but a now necessary one as she indulges this new craving. She realizes with chilling certainty that had this instead been her precious Henry, she wouldn’t have been able to stop herself. This lust is just too potent and the taste of blood on her lips too sweet to be blatantly ignored. It soothes her dry throat and sates her primal hunger and is all too soon gone as she sucks her prey dry. Was his name Johnny? Or maybe Jake? She doesn’t give the notion much consideration as she hastens to lick up the remaining nectar that had spilled onto the ground and now coats her blouse, forsaking all dignity and decency to once again taste of this forbidden fruit.  
She is halted by the sound of approaching footsteps and tenses at the prospect of a second helping. Her nostrils flare in anticipation and she inhales a scent she instantly recognizes as Emma Swan. An image of Henry’s horrified face at finding his birth mother’s frozen corpse flashes into her mind and she is reminded of her promise to do better, to be better. It is the only thing keeping her from launching herself at the tantalizing aroma. Had she not first devoured the grocer, this hesitance would have been an impossible feat, but with his blood still fresh on her tongue, she is able to exercise some amount of control. She is quickly losing it though, her capability of coherent thought vanishing amidst the stronger need to feed.  
“Regina?” comes the blonde’s suspicious voice. Regina wants to respond, but knows if she opens her mouth, she will succumb to her desires. So she leaps into the air with a strength unbeknownst to her and flees from temptation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Don't own characters or ideas


	3. The V Word

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Umm… Okay, so something went a bit haywire with my notes in the previous chapters. But, if that is the only technical difficulty I have experienced so far, I’d say that is pretty good. Please excuse that because as I have said before, I am absolutely hopeless with computers.

In her twenty-eight years Emma Swan had seen her fair share of oddities, plot twisters, and “miracles”, probably a great deal more than you’d expect of your typical young adult. After all, she had lead a hard knock life, bouncing from foster home to foster home, learning as she went. She discovered at a tender age that believing in Santa Clause and fairy godmothers always ended in disappointment. She could brave heartbreak and betrayal and come out stronger for it. She was capable of taking care of herself because she had the rare ability of adaptation. Her aptitude for coping with drastic change was tested, however when the ten-year old son she had given up for adoption had magically appeared at her door, claiming that she was the savior of an entire population of fairy tale characters cursed by the Evil Queen. This talent was further stretched when his plight proved to be true and she found herself going from bail bondswoman to the heir apparent of none other than Prince Charming and Snow White. And she was fine, she could handle it, she was a big girl.  
But this is where the line is drawn. The crisp, cool, winter air bites at her fingertips as she stares, dumbfounded, at the ground on which the queen had just recently crouched. Emma’s mind continued to replay the scene over and over, sifting through the information, searching for a plausible explanation, playing like a broken record. The only possible conclusion to be drawn was a spell gone wrong, horribly, awfully, terribly wrong. What else would drive Regina to-and Emma visibly shudders as she recalls the vivid image, for the first time sparing a glance at the stiffened corpse, mere feet from her-brutally murder some random civilian and drink his blood?  
She wonders at how long she has just been standing there, as her toes have gone completely numb, when the sound of a door banging closed draws her from her mental investigation. She can hear David- or James or Prince Charming or Dad or whoever the Hell he is-as he calls out to her, fretful voice cracking slightly as he moves to embrace his daughter, “Emma, are you alright? We were so worried.”  
Emma breaks free of the contact and turns to see what “we” he is referring to. Ruby strides into view, barely even acknowledging Emma’s presence as she goes to crouch next to the victim. A look of what Emma can only describe as horror crosses the brunette’s face. David is oblivious to her reaction, too absorbed in checking Emma for any visible injuries while plowing ahead in his interrogation of her health, “When you didn’t answer the phone, we feared the worst. I told you to wait for help. You could have been hurt. Why didn’t you answer? Emma! Emma, say something.”  
She pushes his imploring hands away from where they are doing a search for any damages sustained to her face and reassures him with a brisk nod, “Yea, I’m fine. Just a little in shock is all.” An understatement.  
Satisfied with her reply, David turns his attention to the problem at hand, voicing the question Emma had been contemplating since the beginning of this nightmarish encounter, “What happened here?”  
The query is directed toward Emma, but it is the wolf that answers, solemn whisper scarcely audible, as if it is the air itself is delivering the response Emma already knows to be true, but refuses to accept, “Vampires.”  
The single word hangs heavy in the atmosphere and Emma’s mind recoils at the absurd idea. She almost laughs, almost gives into the hysteria threatening to consume her and probably would have if not for the steadying arm offered by David. If she was more refined or more eloquent, if she acted as the princess she was, she would have proclaimed the notion preposterous. But circumstance had robbed her of the opportunity, instead granting her with unrivaled street smarts and a foul mouth. “Bullshit,” she states simply, as if that one declaration is enough to sum up the entire situation. She shakes her head, allowing herself a small chuckle, “That’s right, I call bullshit. If vampires were real, why haven’t I seen any evidence of them? Huh? Several months and what? Not one sighting, not a single run in? I don’t think so. If there were such a thing, I think I would have noticed.” She doesn’t give either of her companions a chance to rebuttal her claims, afraid that they’ll make a valid point and this nightmare will become a reality, “Besides, I saw Regina and she is many things, but last I checked, blood-sucking demon was not one of them. She’s not… She can’t…” Emma trails off, all the confirmation needed laying not six feet from her in the form of a crescent shaped bite mark located on the corpse’s throat.  
All of Emma’s prior knowledge on vampires, though not a substantial amount, resurfaces. And in her experience, werewolves had never been absent from these tall tales. Well, there is a werewolf standing right there, and really, it is the only quantifiable proof she requires. David seems conflicted, unable to decide on whether to comment on the prospect of the sorceress that had recently threatened his family having been present mere minutes ago or add his own opinion regarding vampires. He chooses the latter, surprising Emma with his words, “I thought vampires were extinct.”  
“Extinct?” Ruby scoffs as if the idea offends her. “More like eradicated. And don’t ask for the details; it happened before I was born.”  
David frowns, “Then how could you possibly identify that as the work of a vampire if you have never encountered one?”  
Ruby is suddenly defensive, “I don’t know. I just… know. Our two species are mortal enemies. I recognize the smell because it is in my DNA. How do birds know to fly south for the winter?”  
David considers this, deeming it an acceptable explanation. Without skipping a beat, he forges on, single minded and determined as ever, “What concerns me is that Regina was here. Are you sure that is who you saw?”  
“Yea, I’m sure,” Emma confirms.  
“Positive?” David presses.  
Seriously, Emma thinks, he is doubting my credibility when it is Ruby spouting some crap about birds of a feather or some shit like that. “Naw, it was the fucking Easter Bunny. Of course I’m sure it was Regina.”  
Emma is about to continue her tirade when she notices Red has started to turn a sickly green color. “Hey Ruby, you okay. You’re startin to look like Christmas over there.”  
The young waitress, who doesn’t look a day over twenty-five, but is really twenty-eight years older than Emma, pinches her nose before replying, “Yea, it is just that stench. Don’t you notice it? It absolutely reeks of vampire. I’d assume there is more than one.”  
David chuckles slightly, amused by Ruby’s reaction, “I don’t detect a thing, but then again, my nose isn’t near as sensitive as yours.”  
Emma doesn’t see the humor in this grave situation, “Whoa, slow down. So you’re telling me that these ‘mystic’ creatures haven’t been seen in a generation and now there were two in the same vicinity within the last half hour?”  
Ruby bends until her nose is almost touching the ground and inhales deeply, an odd movement for a human, “No, counting Regina, there were three.”  
Emma huffs out a lung full of air, wishing for a smoke. She’d dropped the habit a long time ago, but God, she could really use one right about now. “Great, so now they’re popping up like daisies. What do you suggest we do?”  
She can’t help but think Ruby is being rather optimistic in her reply, “Now? I’d say we go vampire hunting.”  
Emma raises an incredulous eyebrow, “Right. I don’t mean to put a damper on your plan there, but since you’re the apparent vampire expert, how do you go about killing that which is already dead?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be flashbacks in upcoming chapters  
> -Ideas and characters aren't mine


	4. Child of the Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, there is a flashback in this chapter, but there are a couple things you should know  
> 1\. For those of you who don't remember, Anita was the name of Red's mother  
> 2\. Because Granny's name is never given, I decided to call her by her actress's name, Beverly  
> 3\. I am aware that werewolves only change come the full moon , but for the sake of the story, they can change on any night, but the urge is stronger during a full moon and they are stronger then as well  
> -I apologize if the beginning chapters have been confusing, but there will be an explanation in the two upcoming updates

Regina runs, runs faster and farther than she had ever run before, her legs never growing tired and her lungs never aching for oxygen and God, it is invigorating. She is flying, and for a moment she allows herself to dream that she sits astride Rocinante and with her gentle guidance he is leaping and bounding, clearing entire buildings with ease. They are one together, body and soul, an asteroid plummeting through space, detached from the world. They are free. Trees and bushes whizz by them as civilization gives way to forest, and still she pushes their speed to eighty miles an hour. Then ninety. Now one hundred. Yet, they don’t hit any obstacles, not a one.  
The daydream ends all too quickly as she comes to an abrupt stop before the town line and reality comes down upon her, crushing her with its cruel force. She expects to have to catch her breath or rest against a tree, but this new body sets no such limits. She is absolutely humming with energy, even as the forest around her buzzes with an intensity she had never thought possible. It is as if she had lived her entire life with mud clogging her eyes and ears, clouding her mind, and weights shackled to her feet. But now, the chains have broken, the mud lifted, and she is awake, her body singing with the thrill of its newfound capabilities.  
She is alive.  
But the absence of the ever present thrumming of heart tells her otherwise. She places a hand over the area where the useless organ used to beat, faithfully pumping her much needed blood through her veins despite all the mistreatment it had endured. The foreign stillness unnerves her, and she resigns herself to righting the wrongs done to her. She doesn’t know what happened to her or why, doesn’t understand where she received this enhanced physical prowess, but if it comes at the cost of her never again getting to hold her son, she doesn’t want anything to do with it. And since there is only one resident in the town of Storybrooke strong enough to overpower her, she assumes it logical to start there. Reaching deep inside herself, she delves for the magic that will transport her to the imp’s house in a cloud of violet smoke whose sole purpose is to add a touch of theatrical flair. She brings her hands up in a dramatic gesture and… nothing.  
She repeats the process. Again, there is nothing, not even a flicker. She flaps her arms vigorously, looking for all the world like a wounded duck, frustration and anger mounting. The rage is quickly replaced by fear. Her magic, the one solid, reliable presence in a life filled with betrayal and lies, is being blocked. Whatever demon inhabiting her mind, granting her with superior dexterity is also impeding her ability to cast spells. It makes her vulnerable, makes her weak. She MUST be rid of this pestilence.  
With a muttered profanity, the fallen queen sets herself to the task of undergoing the journey to Gold’s estate on foot. She arrives outside the premise near as quick as if she had poofed herself there without expending half the energy, but despite the convenience there is perpetual damage done to her pride.  
Regina takes a moment to appreciate the fact that Gold prefers solitude. Had his dwelling been packed into a tight neighborhood, she fears she would have first stopped to fill up on a snack, for the burning sensation in her throat had made a reappearance, indicating her unnatural thirst. She is grateful also that the book worm is not in attendance due to her lost memory because it would be so easy to ascend the wall that leads to her bedroom, creep through the window, set upon the unsuspecting girl and…  
Regina lets out an audible groan as the pain spikes. She pushes the thought aside, rationalizing that it is better to focus on the task at hand than to indulge in her demented fantasy. Any thoughts of feasting are dashed as a foul, pungent odor assaults her delicate senses, nearly knocking her off her feet. It is the cloying scent of a decaying rat poorly masked by an excess of offensive cologne. In other words, Rumpelstiltskin. She resists the urge to gag as she grapples up the side of the brick toward the locked window barring her from his bedroom. The rudimentary security poses little challenge and within seconds the queen is slipping in through the opening. The entire maneuver is performed with the utmost amount of grace and caution. The Dark One doesn’t even stir as Regina stalks silently across the floor.  
She can’t recall ever seeing Rumpelstiltskin sleep, didn’t think he was capable, but now looming over his prone form, she feels a sort of sick satisfaction. He writhes beneath the blankets, becoming tangled in his sheets as a nervous sweat pours over his face. Regina instantly recognizes it as a night terror, her own dreams having been plagued by them far too often for her to not be able to identify one. She holds no sympathy for him in her still, black heart and it is evident in the slight grin that lights her features.  
Without warning or preamble, he is shooting up from the bed, eyes wide, arms flailing in an attempt to banish the demons from his head. Regina, who for her part is almost laying on Gold, drawn by her fascination of her dreaming mentor, is almost struck in the jaw by a wayward fist. Her sharp reflexes prevent the hand from making contact, but she does let out a very savage, unladylike snarl. Gold lets out an ear-piercing shriek and Regina thinks this is also an act by Rumpelstiltskin she didn’t know him capable.  
Gold seems to have managed to calm himself and now focuses on the haughty figure positioned at the foot of his bed. If he is at all shameful about his little outburst, he doesn’t offer any evidence of the fact. “Regina? What the Hell are you doing in my house!?”  
“Afraid of the dark, are we?” her voice is thick and gravelly, but delivered with authority and derision.  
Gold is quick to compose himself and spits back, just as much venom lacing his voice, “Well forgive me for being a bit unsettled by your appearance. You look as if you just slaughtered a lamb with you bare hands.”  
Regina is taken aback by his words, wondering at how it had escaped to her to look in a mirror after the “incident” as she had so lovingly taken to calling it. She scans the room, counting on Gold’s tendencies as a pack rat to have some reflective object with which she can see herself. Her gaze finally falls on a decorated vanity and she gasps at the person glaring back at her. She wears a white blouse stained with unseemly crimson blotches. The expensive apparel is torn and a fair amount of blood has dried to her face. She does, in fact, appear to have arrived straight from a slaughterhouse. But perhaps the most startling feature is her eyes-now dyed a fiendish yellow. Not a striking shade of amber or rich gold, but a garish hue of violent yellow that seem to glow with an intensity all their own. Indeed, they cast a harsh light about the room. Regina’s tone is pitched low and dangerous as she glowers at the shop keeper, and does nothing to betray her rising fear, “What did you do to me?”  
Gold chuckles, “I don’t know to what you are referring, but its late and it seems as if you have had yourself quite the evening,” he gestures nonchalantly, indicating her haggard form, “Maybe it’s for the best if you went home, had yourself a glass of scotch, and take a good long beauty rest. I of all people should know how difficult it can be to waste away your life, plotting the death of your enemies. And after what happened to your poor mother…”  
Regina can feel her facade of indifference slipping, giving way to a senseless rage the likes of which she has never known. “Don’t you talk about my mother,” she takes a threatening step forward, all authoritative, malevolent queen. And if he had been anyone else, Rumpelstiltskin would have found the display to be alarming, but he isn’t just anyone else, so he stands toe to toe with the fuming mayor and dismisses her like she is a common servant to be ordered about, “I think it is time for you to show yourself out. You’ve overstayed your welcome, Dearie.”  
But Regina shows no inclination of taking her leave. “No, not until you fix this.”  
“I thought you smarter than that, Regina. You know as well as I that what ails you cannot be reversed, cured, or treated by any magical means or any qualified doctor this land has to offer.”  
Her words are quiet, broken, as if she is still trying to convince herself of the truth of her statement, “All curses can be broken.”  
Gold regards her as one might when trying to explain adult matters to a three year old, “What you suffer from isn’t a curse; it’s damnation.” The declaration cuts like the serrated edges of glass on delicate skin. Regina recoils, wishing for the days when Rumple would soothe her wounded soul by whispering sweet nothings and broken promises into her ear; she needs comfort, needs hope. But hope had never been kind to her and Gold doesn’t owe her a thing, so he delivers the killing blow, “Dawn is fast approaching. You should make yourself scarce. I hear your kind doesn’t fare too well in the sunlight.”  
-FLASHBACK-  
-Enchanted Forest Approximately 30 Years before the curse-  
Anita carefully pulls the door closed, wincing as the wood groans loudly in protest. She freezes in place, straining to hear signs of life from within the humble cabin. When none seem to be forthcoming, she lugs the knapsack of necessities over her shoulder and tiptoes from the cottage. When she is across the clearing and a safe distance away, she breaks into a brisk jog, lengthening her strides to accommodate for the great distance she is to traverse.  
She hasn’t gone ten feet before she hears what she had thought she had managed to elude, “If you find my cooking that distasteful you could just say something instead of running away.” Beverly Lucas is a robust woman in her mid-thirties, grey already beginning to overtake what used to be coppery, auburn hair; the years hadn’t been kind to her. It is clear she was never meant for quiet knitting circles and harmless gossip told by many a docile housewife. The way she carries herself, even now with her hand planted firmly on her hip, a scowl plastered to her features, bespeaks of a woman who is very capable of holding her own. It is true that Beverly-though because all her elder relatives have long since been laid to rest, she has adopted her Father’s given title of Lucas, insisting to most everyone she comes across that that is how she is to be addressed-had never encountered a problem too difficult to overcome, that is, until her rebellious, teenage daughter, Anita.  
Anita twirls her long, cocoa tresses between her fingers, a nervous habit she’d never been broken of, “I was just going for a walk. It’s a wonderful morning for a stroll.” She looks guilty as sin, what with her satchel hanging limply from her shoulder. No one would think them related; while it couldn’t be argued that Lucas is a strong, if handsome woman, Anita possesses a body to be envied by the gods. She’d been blessed-Lucas would say cursed, having had to practically beat suitors away from the young maiden whenever they went to market-from birth with a beauty unbeknownst to the fairest of dainty princesses.  
“Oh, and I suppose you’d need a sword for that,” Lucas nods toward the blade that has worked its way from its wrappings and is peeking out from behind Anita’s skirts.  
Anita doesn’t see the point in telling any further lies, as surely any others would be detected and she is already standing knee-deep in shit as it is. She sighs, “I am going to go aid our comrades in the fight against the vampires. And the only reason I didn’t say anything to you was because I knew you’d overreact.”  
Lucas doesn’t seem to be at all placated by the girl’s explanation, “You’re damn straight. You’re barely sixteen. You don’t have any business poking your nose around in wars.”  
Anita protests, “This is exactly why I tried to sneak out; I knew you couldn’t possibly understand. It’s not as if there is any danger. The real fighting is done. All that is left is to track down a few stragglers, the ones that fled, and we won’t ever have to worry about them again.”  
Lucas huffs, disbelieving, “Gone? Vampires will never be gone. They are like mice, vermin that come at night to nibble on the grain. No matter how many remedies you try, no matter how many you kill, there will always be survivors that breed a new generation and it all starts over again.”  
Anita tries again to appeal to the grizzled woman, “Well they think they can; and I have reason to believe they are close. Wouldn’t you like to be able to boast in thirty years to your grandchildren that you played your part in making this a safer world in which to live?”  
Lucas is unmoved by the speech, “I, for one, would like to boast that I have dinner on the table. As for ‘playing my part’ I don’t owe anyone anything. We have everything we need right here.”  
Anita won’t be mollified, “Why must you be so ashamed of the wolf? Embrace it, it is who you are. I want to live as we were meant, as a pack, a team.”  
Lucas laughs. Anita is just a silly girl with fanciful ideals. One day she will learn the truth of the world, but until then… “Fine, we’ll go.”  
Anita is surprised that the stubborn woman relented with such ease, “You’re not jesting?”  
Lucas allows a smile to pass her face briefly, but somehow it doesn’t seem to be an expression of amusement, “Well, knowing you, you’d just sneak out again and one of these times, I wouldn’t be able to stop you. I’d rather be there to protect you. So yes, I’m going.”  
Anita lets out a small squeal of excitement and decides they should begin their journey before her mother changes her mind. She sets out at a gentle, mile eating lope-a grueling pace for a human, a breeze for a wolf- and without another word Lucas follows suit. She can’t help but wonder, as they make their way over the uneven terrain, where her mother acquired such a deep rooted distrust for her own kind.  
-END OF FLASHBACK-  
She would never again be able to witness a sunrise, not without experiencing the scalding pain that accompanied it, Regina can’t help but observe regretfully. It had started as a mild burning sensation when the first rays had colored the sky, dying the midnight blue with a mesmerizing array of splendid oranges, pinks, and yellows. Her discomfort had quickly amplified, becoming a searing agony, as the sun mounted the heavens, and she was blinded by its magnificence.  
The light had scorched the delicate pupils, and now everything is a white blur. She flies across the ground in a frenzied panic, finding her way by scent alone; it is an odd sensation, and she can’t help but compare herself to a snake as she is now able to smell the difference between cool air and hot. She uses the ability to find a moments respite under the shade of a tree, but it doesn’t conceal her completely and she realizes she needs to hide in some nook black as pitch to escape this torturous fire eating away at her flesh. She detects a large amount of cold air currents pooling from some remote crevice and sprints to the entrance, slipping through to feel the dark wash over her, a balm to her wounds.  
She knows a moment of utter terror when her vision is not immediately remedied. She claws at the orbs as if that will somehow return her sight and banish the ache that has settled over her charred body.  
“Don’t worry. Your sight will return in due time, but you have burnt your retinas and it will require some time to heal,” She recognizes the voice as the one belonging to her attacker-or, more accurately, the one commanding her attacker-even as his slim arms wrap around her torso.  
She fights his hold on her, pushing at the offending appendages that prove to be surprisingly strong and stone-like. “Let go of me!” Regina growls at him, and it is an impressive sound. Her assailant, however, is undeterred, if anything his grip tightens.  
She stiffens when his breath blows across her ear, “He was right, you do smell heavenly. I am starting to see why he lost control. It would be so easy to take you, right here right now. But…” He trails off, never voicing the thought. Despite herself, she lets out a small whimper as he runs a hand through her hair. Then he releases his grasp and she lashes out at the spot where he’d stood moments before. There is nothing but emptiness. She casts about the small space, but doesn’t dare expose herself to the outside light, and so does not pursue the mysterious man-if such a creature can even be deemed that. Twice now their paths have crossed, and neither time had she caught even a glimpse of his face. She falls to her knees, crying out in frustration and distress.  
Her tears sting like acid on her perfect, porcelain cheeks.


End file.
